


An Adventure Awaits

by YouMakeMeaSupernaturalWoman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ass-Kicking, F/M, Romance, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:26:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8336458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouMakeMeaSupernaturalWoman/pseuds/YouMakeMeaSupernaturalWoman
Summary: You have an ordinary life until something happens to make it extraordinary. You are "chosen," whatever that could possibly mean. It's not so bad. The job comes with some awesome perks including an enchanted mansion, and running into two very handsome brothers.  
Takes awhile for the boys to show up, but the wait is worth it.





	1. A Whole New World

### Background

After a rough childhood you manage to get an education, which following some struggles, lands you your dream job of librarian. It's in a rural town, which isn't really your thing, but you adjust.  
About a year after being on the job (which you are killing BTW), a suave British man in his early senior years tells you that you are chosen. 

“Holy the Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” you think. 

You are not chosen to kill vampires, however, but to keep the universe in balance. Only when there is severe unrest in the universe does one of your kind get created, and that hasn't happened in a very very long time (millennias to be more precise). 

It's been so long since that last chosen appeared that Gerald does not even really know what the job exactly entails or what powers you may gain. All he knows is that he has been intrusted to watch over a secret mansion for the last century and a half that will serve as your home base.... and that there are a lot of things that go bump in the night. The house is the safest place in the entire world. It is warded against everything and cannot even be seen without your permission (except for the house's guardian Gerald of course). 

A large part of you thinks Gerald is off his rocker. Your mother believed in the supernatural, channeling spirits supposedly, but you never saw the evidence, and therefor never believed her. You weren't much for religion either, choosing to spend your life in pursuit of empirical evidence and information.  
The smaller part of you has always wanted to be chosen or special in some capacity, after all you are a librarian and spent your life reading tales of adventure.  
You deliberate for a few days while Gerald patiently waits at a hotel in town, understanding it's a lot to take in. Finally deciding you don't have much to lose you ask work for a few days off. You are willing to go with Gerald to see the house but not to make any commitment.

And now the story really begins....

“Well my dear, I am rather glad you did decide to at least come see it. Because whether or not you believe me you are something special. Either way you cannot stop what is coming, well at least not yet, and you will not be able to stop what you are becoming either,” Gerald says matter of factually to you when you meet him at his hotel room. 

It was sunrise. The morning of your departure. 

He is tall, thin, with excellent posture. Despite his advanced age it looks like he is in great physical shape. His long hook nose sprouts snowy white hairs matching those coming from his ears. He is the picture of a Englishman with a proper navy blue suit, vest and all. Shiny deep brown wing-tip shoes on his feet. A crossover between someone's endearing grandpa and a character from James Bond. 

“We should get going,” you reply, “I could only find someone to cover me for the weekend.” 

You agreed that you would take your own car and follow Gerald. It was going to be a long drive. 

Idling in your car you wait for Gerald and are impressed but not quite surprised when he pulls up in a very sleek Astin Martin. 

“Ready?” He asks through the rolled down window. 

You nod in reply, although you aren't entirely sure you meant it. Despite your conflicted feelings you find yourself pulling out of the hotel lot and following him out of town.

The drive was long, about eight hours, and that was a lot of time to flip-flop through your doubts. 

“What if he's crazy?' you think, “A crazy old coot off his rocker?” Well then you go with him, make him happy and be on your merry little way. 

“Or a serial killer?!” Well then you fight for your life. “But what if he is telling the truth,” another part of you says as you glance down at your hands on the steering wheel expectantly, hoping that magic powers, a light or tingling, would give you a sign. 

Nothing. Nothing happened. 

After a few bathroom breaks and a stop for dinner, the sun is beginning to set and you are becoming incredibly antsy. At the last stop Gerald told you it wouldn't be too long now and that you'd know what you were looking for when you saw it. “Uh-huh,” you thought inwardly.

Stifling a yawn you roll down the windows, and turn up the music to keep you from nodding off. 

As you bellow out the words to _____, one of your favourite songs, you feel it. A slight bit of vibrating through you. “Shit, what's wrong with the car?” you say out loud to yourself. A second later you know it's not the car, as you feel a sort of energy coursing through your body. 

Your eyes scan the country side and you see it to your left. 

The setting sun glinting off the windows making it a spectacular array of golds, oranges and reds. Through a large ornate gate and down a long winding driveway there it is. Like something out of a movie. 

Bruce Wayne's abode, the X-Mansion, Pemberly and Downtown Abbey all rolled into one. A grand stately castle of a house comprised of turrets, arches, stone, and majesty, surrounded by a lush garden of green.

Right in the middle of what had seconds about been an unremarkable cow field. 

“Holy shit!” you gasp, “the old man's not completely off crazy after all!”

You follow Gerald through the gate as it opens and up the drive way, around the back of the house to a large parking area and what looks like a miniature version of the house its self. He beckons you to follow his car inside this tiny grand building, which must be the garage. 

You pull in and find a space among the impressive array of vehicles.

There are motorcycles, sports cars, and a few vintage models. 

You actually feel ashamed getting out of your modest little car.  
You didn't know much about how cars worked but you always had a thing about how they looked and knew a bit about luxury and vintage makes, always hoping to one day be able to afford one of your own. 

“Wow,” you whistle as you shut you door, “this is quite the collection.” 

Gerald smiles at you in obvious delight at your appreciation.

“Wonderful,” he claps his hands together surveying the room and turns back to you, “I've been collecting for decades, a little hobby of mine to past the time. They are obviously at your disposal, since they technically belong to you.”

“Obviously. Technically...” you whisper after him, in complete awe. 

You collect your bag and follow him through a door in the garage that leads into a very well maintained tunnel. No cob webs, walls that look freshly painted.

“So who else lives here?” 

“Just me, myself and I...and well...now of course you...if you choose.” 

“But who....but how....I don't understand.” you reply as you picture the immaculate house, gardens and garage in your mind. 

How could one man possibly care for such a large property? 

You watched shows on BBC and PBS. You read historical fiction. You can reasonably guess how much a house like this takes to upkeep and it's a lot. Whole dynasties are ruined over properties like this.

Gerald stops in front of a heavy ornately carved wooden door, and turns to look at you, his hand on the knob. 

His eyes sparkle as they meet yours, “This is no ordinary house of course. It is positively magical.” 

With that he pulls the door open leading you into a grand foyer. As he shuts the door behind him an enormous tapestry settles back in place, hiding the entrance you just came from. 

A secret passage! How awesome is that?

That's only the beginning of your astonishment and awe as your eyes drink in the architecture around you. 

A grand curving staircase made out of stone graces the foyer, as do large lead and stain glass windows, stories high. A fire place big enough to park a smart car in is situated along the wall by what you assume is the huge front door of the house. Arched doorways lead to corridors and rooms. 

“It is quite impressive isn't it,” Gerald remarks as he stares up at the ceiling along with you, “after all these years I still find it has the power to take my breath away.” He pats the wall behind the tapestry fondly. 

“And this is for me to live in?” you exclaim, still not believing your eyes. 

Something deep inside you said “Yes, this is home,” however you were not one to always trust odd voices from your innards. 

“If you want it. Do not forget there is more to this than just the house.” Gerald warns you.

A quick tour, if any tour of a house that big could be called quick, revealed a beautiful library from your childhood dreams. 

Two stories tall, with a circle staircase leading to a second level and a rolling ladder like Belle's. Leather wing-backed chairs, wooden desks, and a fireplace were just the icing on the cake of what was a private collection of thousands of books. 

That alone almost had you sold.

Along the tour Gerald explained that the house maintained itself. It would also provide whatever was needed, rooms, things, entire floors if need be. When he'd first moved in it had been the middle of the 1800s, as time passed the house updated on it's own to include electricity and even wifi. 

Now you were in your room which seemed to be perfectly decorated to your tastes. It astonished you but also creeped you out a little bit. Was the house sentient? Could it hear and feel, or was it just that, a magical house? 

“Hi house, it's me, YN.” you say experimentally to the room around you. 

When there is no sign of a reply you laugh and shrug your shoulders, “I don't know if you can hear me or understand me but you are absolutely the most wonderful thing I've ever seen in my entire life and I think I am meant to be here with you.”

The next day you call your work to regretfully announce your resignation. 

Weeks go by and you and Gerald scour through the library to discover what it exactly is that you are supposed to do. 

Since you have a literary background and your mother was obsessed with mythology and the supernatural you are thrilled you are familiar with many of the creatures and legends you've come across. You are also a very practical person and know there is no way you can do this all alone. 

You need help and you need company. The mansion, as amazing as it is, is also a little bit lonely with its vastness. You're not sure how Gerald did it all these years or how he is over 150 years old for that matter. 

With Gerald you begin to brainstorm, thinking to assemble a team. You know from all great book and movies that a team is a great thing to have. 

The library was huge, you'd never get through it all on your own. You'd need another librarian and possibly a historian.  
The lore suggested a lot of physical combat and weapons. Both a weapons and combat expert would be necessary. 

Perhaps some scientists would be useful too. Although you were dealing with what was considered outside science you weren't completely sure that the two didn't cross over or had to be mutually exclusive.


	2. The Vengeful Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I predict that you shall meet two tall handsome men in the future.

Months had gone by, with much research, phone calls, travel, meetings, and ambiguous, yet completely intriguing, invitations sent. Finally you had your squad, or at the least the very strong beginnings of one. 

After working on some small time hunts together, you're crew and you had come up with some new tools to help in the field, even developing a software that ran through news on the internet, filtering out articles that meet your criteria for “suspicious goings on.” 

What looked like a simple salt and burn vengeful spirit came up only an hour drive away you felt like you were ready for your first solo mission. 

After packing up the beautiful 1940s Indian Motorcycle Gerald had stowed in the garage you hit the dusty trail with only a handful of your best supplies and a change of clothes just in case. You figured, if you did this right, you could even be home before the next sunrise.

Doing research before you left helped connect the dots between the victims. They'd all be part of the same frat at the same time, in the sleepy college town you were making your way to. A couple of them had settled down in the area, and they'd better still be alive before you got there. 

Reaching your destination you pulled your motorcycle along side a curb and walked up the driveway to a McMansion. This particular ex-frat boy had ties to the area and stayed on at the college working for the board of trustees. 

You ring the bell, waiting with apprehension, still getting the hang of this very illegal impersonating an officer of the law thing. It was much easier to get information out of people when they thought you were in a position of authority you'd figured out early on. 

A man in his 40s who looked very much the part of over grown frat boy opened the door. All paunch and booming voice he nearly shouted in your face “No solicitors!” 

Rolling your eyes you flash your well made fake badge. 

“Sir, Randy Livingstone?” you ask. He nods curtly. “I'm here to talk to you about the death of your friends. While it looks like suicides I'm just not convinced and I am very concerned that there could be more victims in the future.”

Randy's face looks ashen through the awful orange glow of his fake tanner. Looking around he quickly gestures you inside. 

After a frustrating hour of playing cat and mouse for information and coming up empty you stalk out. Randy wasn't giving anything away. His friends were great guys. There was no reason for anyone to hate them. Nothing they'd ever done in the past. 

“Yeah right,” you thought to yourself, “as if frat boy here and his compadres were perfect little angels.”  
You could read people well enough to see that Randy had been scared, and definitely hiding something.

So, you did what you knew how to do best... research.

Sitting at the public library you scrolled through news paper articles from the time period Randy and his buddies had been at school, looking for anything suspicious. An small article about the strange death of a college freshman caught you eyes. He was found naked, with ligature marks around his limbs in a cornfield outside of town. Dead as a doornail. That had to be it. What it didn't mention was any connections to the frat, Randy, or his brothers. 

It was time to visit the college and see what you could find out from the current dean. While this case was moving along it wasn't happening at quite the pace you'd anticipated. It was way past lunch time now and your stomach was grumbling. 

After a quick bite to eat you were now waiting in the dean's office at the college. He was due to return back from a meeting any time now, but not fast enough for you seeing that there were potential lives at stake. 

A man enters the office and you jump up out of your seat and flash your badge. 

“Dean Halston?”

“Yes, what can I do for you? Have some students been dumping laundry detergent in the town square fountain again?” He sighed wearily. 

“No, no nothing like that. I was actually wondering if you knew about the death of one of the students back in the early 90s?”

“Well I know about the death, yes- it was mostly kept out of the press. The particular details would be better known by the dean at the time. In a small town like this, where the college is vital, things tend to be swept under the rug.”

“Would you have his contact information? This is very important.” you state, “ I don't know if you are aware, but alumni and members of a certain frat seem to be dying at an alarming rate, and I am sure that won't be good publicity for the town or the school.”

Dean Halston rubbed his temples and let our a sigh before picking up the phone. “Janet, could you get Bob on the phone for me?....Yes that Bob....thank you........Hi Bob....oh you know the job, never boring....well I've got something strange for you, a police officer is here asking about a freshman who died during your tenure...alum are dying Bob, this is serious...uh-huh....uh-huh....hmmmm....m'kay, thanks Bob, say hi to Linda for me.”

“Well,” Halston said clearing his throat, “it seems that said student was a rush with the Omega Sigs, and while his death was rather strange there was no evidence it was ever connected to the frat itself. Kid had a preexisting heart problem. That was determined to be the cause of death, but the boy also reeked of alcohol.”

Great. So just like you has suspected, Randy and his friends had done something to provoke a vengeful spirit. If you were going to help save his ass he'd better fess up to what happened to the poor kid. You were also really worried that this case was getting more complicated. This is a college town, chances are the body wasn't buried near by. 

You pound on Randy's ugly ass McMansion door, getting more irritated by the second. When you hear a scream from inside you break the window with a nearby rock and let your self in. The lights are flickering inside and it's cold. Great.

Vengeful spirits are a bitch, but you feel confident. Along with coming up with new toys to play with, your combat skills are getting stronger. 

You've got your iron tipped motorcycle boots on and quickly slip on your iron knuckles as well. The badass studs on your motorcycle jacket are for more than just decoration. They are a mixture of iron and silver-just in case. 

Following the screaming you find Randy cornered in his home office. The spirit of a young man flickering in and out menacingly in front of him. 

“Catch!” you yell, tossing him an iron dagger. “Use it on him!” 

As the spirit winks out you know you're time is limited. 

Quickly you roll out something you invented all on your own. Double-sided salt tape - one side salt, the other just waiting to be stuck down. On a previous hunt, a jerk of a ghost broke the windows, the breeze blowing your salt around making it useless. It only took one time to know you needed a better solution. 

As the spirit comes back, you make jabs at him with your knuckles, and the occasional kick with the iron toe of your boot. He disappears and reappears- playing ghost peak-a-boo. 

You finish making a large square and push Randy inside.

“What did you do?!” you yell at him.

“Don't know what you mean.” He stammers back.

You are definitely not in the mood and jam your finger into his chest pushing him back a little.  
“Liar! You and your buddies did something to that rush who died. I know it.”

“Fuck,” he hangs his head, “It was honestly a mistake. It was a kidnapping prank we did. We took all the pledges from their dorm rooms, put bags over their heads, and tied them up in different parts of the forest. Left them there for a few hours. We were coming back but the damn kid panicked and ran away before we had a chance to get to him. He got lost. When we finally found him he was dead. We didn't know the kid had a weak heart! So we poured alcohol on him to make it look like he got drunk and wandered away on his own.”

“I had everything to live for and you killed me!” the ghost screamed. The walls vibrated with the noise. He was pacing around the boundaries of the square. Furious he couldn't get in.

“You don't know where the body is buried?” You ask while silently praying, “Please be close, please be fucking close.”

“Yeah, actually. He was a local. Buried in a cemetery outside the next small town over to the west. Why?!”

“Ok, I'm gonna need you to trust me, can you do that?” you ask Randy, already making to leave. “I need you to stay here! Stay put! Do not move! DO NOT leave the square! No matter what!” 

You find the cemetery- no problem. But digging up this stupid grave with a compact shovel is going to be a bitch. There isn't even a groundskeeping shed on the stupid property. You were hoping for better tools. You didn't really think this part through. Last time you dug up a grave you had help.

You get right to digging up the pile of bones, hoping it doesn't figure out what you've left Randy to go and do. A ghost popping up right now, trying to stop you, was the last thing you needed. 

A car drives by but you're so into your task you don't even give it another thought. 

All of a sudden you are blinded by the glare of a flashlight pointed directly at you.

“What'cha doing?” a gruff male voice asks from the darkness beyond the light.

“Fuck!” you think, “What the fuck do I say?!”

“Got a rush on a new grave. Boss said it needs to be dug by tomorrow?!” 

Like they are going to believe that. 

“Looks like somebody is already occupying that space...” another male voice calls out, with a hint of mischief behind it.

Are they toying with you? Is it possible they know exactly what you are doing? The thought had crossed your mind more than once- that others must know about the things that go bump in the night. 

“Well, he's dead, don't think he needs it.” you retort. 

When nobody moves you call out, “Ok, I'm going out on a limb here – could you stop playing dumb and come help me, please?!”

There's a chuckle in the dark and the two hulking figures approach, you are relieved to see, with shovels in tow. 

Normally you might be intimidated by two large strange men approaching you in a dark and lonely cemetery, however, right now you are just happy to have some help. You've dug barely two feet down and are already getting blisters. You curse yourself for not thinking of bringing gloves. 

Even with the addition of their flash lights it's dark. You aren't really able to get a good look at the two strangers beyond being able to tell that they are tall and have a lot more than you in the way of muscle mass.

“So,” the shorter one starts between huffs of breath, “Ah, we caught up with our mutual friend Randy. Nice work with the salt tape.”

“He's still alive?”

“Was when we left.”

“Good.” You nod your head curtly, wipe the sweat off your forehead and continue. 

What seems like hours later you finally hear the sound of metal on hollow wood. Finally. You climb out of the hole as one of the men tear the lid off the coffin revealing the skeleton inside. 

“Since you started this, its only right you finish it.” the taller one says.

Out of your bag you grab a can of salt and some lighter fluid, lighting the body up like a Christmas tree. A very macabre Christmas tree.

“We should probably go back and check on ol' Randy. Make sure it's really over.” says the slightly shorter man.

As you make your way to your respective vehicles the taller one exclaims, “Ah shit, I'm sorry, we haven't even introduced ourselves. Where are our manners?! I'm Sam, and that's my brother Dean.”

You hop on your motorcycle, “I'm Y/N. See you back at the house. And thanks for that,” as you nod towards the graveyard.

Back at the house you discover that Randy is fine. Although fine is a subjective word. He'll never be able to forget that had a hand in killing a kid and that the kid's spirit came back for revenge. Ghosts are real. And a few of his friends are dead as the consequence. 

Now you can see what your mysterious helpers look like and jeeze are they handsome. The one named Sam subjectively so- but Dean, oh man, your heart is thumping with one look into those leafy green eyes. You can tell he's the type of boy your momma didn't even need to warn you about. You'd been smart enough to figure that one out on your own. 

“Now that frat douche over there is safe, I say we all get a bite to eat,” Dean says cocking his head in your direction.

Randy gives a weak, “Hey,” at being called a douche.

“You got a kid killed Randy with your stupid hazing and covered it up. Now I am not saying you deserved to die for it, but it does make you a capital douche,” Dean reiterates. 

You can't argue. 

The men give you the name of a diner in town where you promise to meet them. You just want to clean up a little, being covered in dirt and sweat.  
“Randy?” you ask, “Where's your bathroom?” The man at least owes you a shower.


	3. An Interview with the Winchesters

You settle into the over stuffed cushions on the bench across from the brothers at a greasy spoon. You kind of feel like you're on an interview. 

“So,” you ask, “You guys do this often?”

“It's been pretty much our whole life.” Sam replies, “You?”

“Well no. This is a recent thing for me. I never used to believe in this stuff actually. Like at all. But now it seems to have taken over my life too. Until recently I was a librarian.”

Dean's eyebrows raised with the mention of your profession, “Hot.”

You hate when people said that. Yeah you totally spent the grueling four years it took in undergrad and the extra two it took to get you masters, tens of thousands in debt so you could be “hot.” Ugh!

You throw a dirty look his way but don't say anything because he's so damn pretty. Right now he seems more interested in his burger than you though, so you continue to talk to Sam.

“You must know a lot about what goes on out there then? We could really use some help from somebody like you guys. I mean we all figured there had to be other people going after these things but we haven't found anyone yet.”

“We?” Dean asks, “You look like you are alone to me sweetheart.”

You also let the 'sweetheart' slide. Who was he to be calling you sweetheart. You hated pet names like that, but fuck- so pretty. 

“Ah, yeah, it's kind of a complicated story, but there are a few of us. Sorta a team, you know or a squad.”

Both boys look at you expectantly.

“It's really not easy to explain, but we are only an hour away. You could follow me back. We'd really love to pick your brains.” Ok, that sounded a little creepy given the context you are meeting these guys in. “Uh, I mean talk the trade.”

They looked at each other and then you. Their doubt radiating off them. 

You lean forward, palms up on the table. “Look, this is going to sound a little crazy. Ok, a lot crazy. But I've kind of inherited a magical mansion. I was told I am chosen- whatever the fuck that means I am still not sure. But I've put together a group of people with different expertise. We are trying to figure this all out and come up with some new ways to beat these things in the mean time. People like you, who've been doing this as long as you have, who know exactly what's out there. You'd be invaluable. You don't have to stay, but at least come visit, see what we're all about?”

You hold you breath.

“Hunters. We're call hunters.” Dean states. 

“Can you give us a minute?” ask Sam.

“Yeah, I've got to hit up the ladies room anyways.”

In the washroom you look at yourself in the mirror. You look radiant, which is strange because you're sure you've never been 'radiant' before in your life. It must be the thrill of this night working it's way through your system. The new life you never asked for but suspected deep down inside you'd always wish you'd had. A bigger purpose. 

You really wanted them to say yes. You were still all so green about this. While you'd been reading a lot about all the various things that existed and threatened humanity, you hadn't actually had to deal with the vast majority of it. You and your team had only taken out a few vampires, werewolves and spirits. 

If you could develop tools to help people like Sam and Dean that would also be fantastic. But you didn't even know where to find such people and you bet that the brothers knew more people like themselves. 

You left the bathroom hoping for the best but assuming the worst. 

The brothers were nowhere to be seen in the restaurant. Shit. You walked by the table and saw they left enough money to cover your meal too. Well at least there was that. As you walked out the front door a beautiful sleek vintage car pulls up. The driver window rolls down.  
“Lead the way sweetheart.”


End file.
